


Old Faces

by nepegg



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen, post-ME3, samara/zaeed - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 05:34:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nepegg/pseuds/nepegg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearly twenty years after Commander Shepard died stopping the Reapers, the Galaxy has moved on. When Samara is attacked by mercs looking for a data-cache given to her by Miranda Lawson, she seeks to reconnect with her old friends from the Normandy crew. What have they been doing in Miranda's new peace-keeping organisation, The Crucible? And what about The Seer, the enigmatic hanar crime-lord on Ilium who was behind the attack? What have the crew of the Normandy been doing the past two decades, in Shepard's absence?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"I just have a problem with how little god damn information we have on this target."  
Mattingly's voice crackled through his squad-mates' in-built helmet communicators and Commander Cho rolled his eyes as the irritating banter started again. Just once, he'd like the peace and quiet of radio silence to last longer than five minutes without Mattingly bitching about something or Ortega teasing him.   
"Didn't know you were so timid in the field, Mattingly," Ortega's smugness was palpable "Tell me, is it the heights that have you jittered, or the scary asari lady who might yell at you?"  
"We ASSUME she's asari but fuck, we don't even know that much! Wanting to be prepared for any eventuality is professionalism, not cowardice."  
"You wanna be prepared for everything? You a boyscout now Mattingly?"  
"Jesus christ Ortega I swear to god if I hadn't been raised not to hit a lady I'd give you the nose job your ugly face has been waiting for with my own two fists."  
"Any time pal," Ortega was obviously pleased with her work in winding up her associate "Hey we can go a few rounds now if you aren't still scared of fighting a nice lady-"  
"ENOUGH!" The commander barked "God damn it people if you could stop with the endless bitching and bickering at each other and save it for some time when we aren't thirty-five stories up and in the middle of a god damn operation! Now will you both kindly shut up?"  
"... Yes sir. Sorry."  
"Thank you Mattingly. Ortega?"  
"Sir?"  
"Do I have your word you will keep your damn mouth shut?"  
"Yes sir."  
"Alright then."  
".... Scout's honour."  
"Oh, FUCK YOU ORTEGA!"  
"RADIO. SILENCE. FROM HERE ON OUT OR SO HELP ME GOD I WILL PERSONALLY DEACTIVATE YOUR MAG GLOVES."  
The squad of highly trained, very expensive and exceptionally immature mercenaries armed with equally expensive and frankly overly large guns continued the slow, slow task of magnetically abseiling down the Ilium apartment block.  
"It's the next floor down." Cho said, some fifteen minutes later "Let's go over it one more time. We get in, and it's a full on stealth mission. We ascertain the whereabouts of the mark. We know they live alone and that this block is nearly all asari, so it should be just one mellow old blue lady. With any luck she'll be in bed by now and our task will be easy but we do NOT alert her to our presence. We locate the artefact, replace it with the fake and get out. If we are discovered, we stun - quickly. One single neural shock program should do it. But it is our number one priority that the artefact is taken without her knowing. If she's killed, certain contacts of hers will know to search for the artefact and we'll be made either way. Any questions?"  
"Uh yeah," Mattingly answered, predictably "Let's start with why the heck was a squad of six mercenaries hired instead of oh I dunno, one thief?"  
"Good point Mattingly, let's turn around and let our benefactor know that we don't their obscene amount of credits. Frankly I'm bored of being rich, let's recommend someone else in the business and be on our way, you idiot. Obviously there's a chance of this going south somehow and if that happens we can handle ourselves."  
"Okay fine," he conceded with a sour tone "But we still don't know who the heck this is and-"  
"God, man," Ortega interjected "They were an old friend of Shepard's okay? That means they've got to have something, a relic or information or something that's crazy valuable. What more do we need to know? Now do you want to do this or do you want to give your share to the rest of us because this is the floor and I'd happily take the credits."  
"She's right. Man up or bow out."  
"Fine, fine. Let's do this."  
"Okay then, on my signal," Cho replied.   
Clunk. An electronic lock pick opened the window seal. The commander opened it just widely enough to allow two mercs through. The six of them went through, two at a time, waiting for the previous pair to take their discussed positions around the apartment. Cho and Mattingly were last.   
The apartment looked like it was something out of a magazine. Exactly out of a magazine, with zero personal touches and zero alterations. The bookshelves were undecorated save for pots for withered plants and obviously ornamental books. It looked more like a showroom that hadn't been tended to in a rather long while. The kitchen area was devoid of food and everything was covered in the thinnest lair of dust. Beyond all that it was a fine place to live - the highest echelon of asari design. But nonetheless unpleasant due to an eerie emptiness. Mattingly noticed this and no one else seemed to, but even he knew better than to comment on the feng shui when they're in the thick of it.   
The squad cautiously manoeuvred around the apartment in such a way that they could scout around while remaining obstructed from any probably line of sight. They moved like a machine of one mind, making almost no sound at all with their footsteps. Within thirty seconds of entering the apartment, they had ascertained the whereabouts of their target. The apartment had it's living room area and hallway on a slightly raised level. The living room wasn't walled off , but surrounded by tasteful panelling and bookshelves in the way that made it appear like a separate room. Unfortunately, this meant that the person living in the apartment could more easily hear or more importantly, see the squad. All she would have to do is turn her head away from the television and she would see an outfit of mercenaries through the gaps in the panels.   
"Target confirmed to be asari'" Ortega was whispering through the communicator, despite her helmet being soundproofed "Current location is in the centre of the apartment, co-ordinates 0.02.06. Target is watching TV and has an alcoholic beverage in hand. We're advised to stay behind her and be ready to hide ourselves at any point. Commander?"  
"Good advice," Commander Cho consented "Stick to it. Location of the artefact"  
"Hard to get a lock," Ortega replied "But the kitchen end of the apartment is the source of the reading. We need to check around there."  
"Roger. Radio silence until it is found."  
The team spent another thirty seconds briefly scouting that end of the apartment. In that time limit, they had checked everywhere one might expect someone to hide something in plain sight. Obviously, to commander cho's chagrin, the asari hadn't done that. The team had the advantage of knowing what it looked like, whereas most common trespassers wouldn't think anything unusual of it. It's just a small, porcelain statuette featuring religious iconography. Curiously, though they had opened each and every cabinet, the refrigerator and the freezer, nothing had any food in it. This was beginning to unnerve the rest of the team now too, as it was all starting to look a bit like a setup.  
"Target's on the move!" Came Ortega's whispered hiss.  
And indeed, the woman had set her wine glass down and left the living room area. The less glamorous aspect of intensive paramilitary training was the part where they teach squads to instantly hide themselves in small areas when wearing heavy armour. So much so that if there was anyone watching at the time, it would be highly comical to see six intimidating, armed men immediately crouch behind couches, counters and tables to avoid being seen by a middle-aged woman in her night-gown.   
"Bloody ridiculous, this," remarked Kingsley, the squad's token grumpy englishman.  
"Cut the chatter, team. Especially if it's silly limey chatter that we can only understand half the time."   
The asari had by now retired to her bedroom, which was on the other side of the apartment to the kitchen.  
"So where haven't we checked? Has this place got a hidden wall safe?" Cho asked impatiently.  
"Affirmative, my scans picked up a recess in the wall behind that painting, it's most likely a safe," Ortega responded "We couldn't access it because it was in the asari's line of sight. Still though, scans indicate the signal emitted by the artefact is on this side of the room and frankly sir if you want to insure that something gets stolen, you'd put it in an easily cracked safe supplied by the building, just to let the burglar know it's valuable. I don't think it's in there."  
"Yeah, roger that," Cho replied "Let's not waste time cracking a dummy safe. There must be another one that we didn't pick up. Fan out and start looking for cracks - panels that can be moved out of place. And hurry people, we've got a minute left on the clock."  
As they searched, Mattingly noticed a display on the wall. The lights were turned off in everywhere but the kitchen now, so he fumbled around for a light switch. While he did so, Cho let the other's know he'd found something.  
"Trap door. Part of it goes beneath the fridge. Move it - quietly."  
And thus, three mercs went about lifting the fridge and moving it the left, and they did so about a quietly as you can move a fridge.  
"Ortega, get this safe open! Markus, back to the window ready our exit. Flowers, get ready with that decoy, we need to swap them quickly enough to trick any scanners that might be in place."  
Mattingly, meanwhile, had found the switch for the display. Spotlighting illuminated a regal red armour that was in perfect condition.   
"Hey, Kingsley," he called out "Come take a look at this."  
His squad-mate grumpily obliged.   
"Mattingly, Kingsley, don't do anything stupid - we're out of here in a few minutes!" Cho said, though his mood had lightened. Operations rarely went so easily as this one.  
"Nearly got this open sir, it's gonna look like it was never touched so long as you make those two slackers over there do the grunt work for once and move the fridge back for us."  
"Copy that Ortega," her superior officer smirked.  
"Now doesn't this look familiar to you man?" Mattingly was asking "You're the history buff and I feel like this belonged to someone well known."  
Kingsley had, though no one could tell behind his helmet, turned a much paler shade of white than his usually pasty skin colour.   
"Come on, you know all about Shepard and all that. Does this tell us who we're stealing from?"  
"Got it open, sir. We are good to go."  
"Oh shit," Kingsley whispered as realisation dawned on him "We need to get the fuck out of dodge before we're all-"  
Whatever charming London slang the mercenary was going to use to describe their situation was stolen from him, along with his lower jaw and most of his skull as several armour piercing bullets split his head into several pieces.  
Markus, who was standing at the window, could see the assailant best and yet she barely had time to raise her gun before a blue biotic field had flung her through the glass and down the thousands of feet to the ilium pavement.   
Though the attacker had left Mattingly's line of sight mere seconds after they killed Kingsley by putting the living room space between them, that didn't stop him from emptying half of his Revenant's bullets in the general direction of the enemy. Two big clouds of splintered wood and fragments of books formed as he mowed down the panels and shelving.   
"TAKE HER DOWN GODDAMMIT SHE'S GOT NO ARMO-"  
Cho had been yelling, before another biotic field slammed into his body and erupted, tossing himself, Flowers and Ortega in separate directions. The commander himself was tossed through the wall behind him. Mattingly was caught waiting for his Revenant to reload, fully aware how vital the minimized reload time of 2.4 seconds can be in the field, when he caught sight of the assailant. She was an older asari woman, no doubt in her matriarch stage. She was tall, taller than Mattingly anyway, and her frame was powerfully angular. An obviously tone armed held a mattock rifle that still had smoke slithering out of the barrel. Mattocks were an older model - a relic of the past, heavily in use during the Reaper war, but not much since. Her other hand was clutching a warp field, like a small sapphire gemstone that swam about in her palm like water. The woman was wearing a purple night-gown and slippers that bore the name of the apartment block's company. It was the kind that was supplied by the apartment owners, like in a hotel. The kind that was replaced every day or so with a fresh pair, so it clearly didn't belong to her. It seemed that nothing in the whole apartment was hers, save for the armour on the wall and the gun in her hand.   
Mattingly noticed all this in a second, and perhaps his reactions were slightly slowed by the chillingly indifferent expression on the asari's face, because he hesitated before switching to his pistol instead of waiting to reload his rifle. In that moment of hesitation, the warp field collided with his stomach. He felt as though his atoms were rearranging themselves, contorting and pulling organs to and fro. Worse than the pain, though, was the utter dread that came with the warning symbol on his heads up display, informing him that his shields were down. Not even a second later, his insides were painting the wall behind him, and his body fell - still writhing, along with his now external organs, to the lingering pull of the warp field.  
The woman's name was Samara. After the Reaper war, she was put under the public eye somewhat as a suspected ally of Shepard's. This was not such a problem, seeing as the public's understanding of Shepard's associates was blurred by the rampant theories by fans and conspiracists both, the wild speculation by journalists and the enthusiastic claims to fame by those people who swore they were Shepard's closest confidant even if they were only casual acquaintances or completely unrelated admirers. Still, Samara was hounded after a news drone captured footage of her single-handedly neutralising the anti-shepard Reaper cultists who had taken hostage of eighty-eight civilians at the Shepard Memorial Rapid Transit Station on Zakera Ward. It was only one of a pandemic of buildings and monuments that now bore the late commander's name, but it was public enough that Samara was positively hunted by reporters for inside knowledge on Shepard. Eventually it was found out that not only was she nigh impossible to keep tabs on, but even if you found her she was quite content to begin one of her fifteen hour meditative sessions in which she would sit without moving an inch. This, reporters observed, generally didn't make for good television and when they could get a word out of her, she would inform them that it was her sole duty as one of the few remaining Justicars to adhere to the code, which "frowned on", as she put it, Justicars becoming famous. In reality, the code frowned on pursuing fame much in the way that the christian bible "frowns on" wholly devoting yourself to the service of lord Lucifer of hell. Whenever she used the Justicar card, Asari diplomats would intervene and insist that the paparazzi back down, eager as Asari aristocrats were to preserve the waning Justicar order.   
However, mystery was just as useful a tool for making one famous as, if not more so than, the truth. 'Shepard's Justicar' became a staple of the varying Shepard story, and at the very least a crimson clad asari became an image often associated with depictions of Shepard's crew in the ensuing vids, theatre adaptations, unofficial documentaries, comic books and plethora of other media that hazarded wild guesses at the true story of the hero who saved the galaxy.   
Fortunately for Samara, she gradually faded from the public eye just as the craze for Shepard fiction did, and the galaxy began to form a consensus of agreed upon facts about Shepard's crew. She would only be recognised to true cult-fans who had grown obsessed with researching the suicide squad and holding them up as idols, or true history buffs who knew the slightly more obscure facts. Kingsley had been both and it was truly tragic that he died before knowing for sure that his killer was someone he had insisted was real and a true hero of the galaxy in an argument over an extranet forum with a skeptical volus that lasted until 5am.  
Samara had, in the following years, worked with the Crucible organisation run by Miranda Lawson and Liara T'soni to dismantle the terrorist cells that were formed by the previously indoctrinated, now insane and reaper-obsessed men and women who used their former influence and the remnants of Cerberus forces to create a reaper worshipping cult. She did this in adherence to her oath, concluding that she had sworn to help Shepard eradicate Reaper forces and they were not, in fact, fully exterminated. She continued, however, to occasionally assist Crucible when they called on her and remain a reliable contact for when a well-respected Asari might be required. This, she could not say was in adherence to any code. Perhaps it was merely out of respect for her fallen friends and gratitude for the living ones. Perhaps Samara had grown somewhat accustomed to the concept of having a circle of friends at all, and enjoyed staying in touch with them in a way that would appear distant and infrequent form their perspective, but was in truth quite exceptionally social for Samara. Regardless, Samara had made no shortage of enemies in the years since she began working with Shepard - even more so than she had made working as a ruthless Justicar. Right now, however, there were only three she had to deal with, and they had made quite a mess of her temporary home.   
Cho was crawling out of the wall in a way that could not be described as graceful except perhaps in comparison with how a drunk elcor might do it. He was trying not to trip on the pile of rubble and piping. Flowers had been flung to Cho's right by the throw field, and slammed in a unit of cabinets, crushing them and destroying the sink in the process. As water spurted out of the piping, she had begun to slowly edge closer to her gun, which had slipped across the floor. On the left side of the room, Ortega was dazed from a head trauma that could have been lethal if not for her helmet. She, however, had mostly recovered and would begin firing any second now, with Cho right behind her. Samara could deal with them, but by then the third one, the one they called Flowers would have flanked her. Samara quickly retreated, walking backward before doubling back up the stairs of the living room area. Her barrier would have time to recharge, but the mercs would be ready for her.  
Quickly assessing the situation, the Justicar knew things weren't looking very good since she lost the element of surprise. That said, they weren't especially bad by the standard of scrapes that she typically found herself in. Her mattock, she noted, was nearly full as she had relied on short controlled bursts. There was rarely any wastage in Samara's actions. She had however, strained herself biotically. Along with the Barrier she prepared in advance, she had already used a small throw field, a wide throw field and a warp field. The mercs would have their shields fully primed now and Samara, though powerful, could not fire off three warp fields in quick succession to wear down their shields, not after she had already considerably exerted herself. The best way to do it would be to throw them out of the window or use some method other than bullets so that their shields weren't advantageous to them. The armour wasn't a problem with her modified Mattock and it's armour-piercing rounds, though she would trade them for disruptor rounds right now if she could. She positioned herself behind what remained of the thin wall panels. After taking a quick glimpse, she ascertained that they had already taken up positions with cover. She had the high ground, and their scanners couldn't tell them where she is - not anymore.   
"Listen lady," The leader, Cho's voice crackled out over a speaker in his helmet "This could get really ugly. Now you killed half my team and that really pisses me off, but then again that's the risk of this kinda work and I guess we get their shares now. All I want is that one pretty statue in your safe, so if you let us take it we'll just walk away. You can keep your gun, I just want you to go back to your bedroom so we know where you are, and we'll take the artefact and be on our way. I don't want to risk it in case you injure or maybe kill another one of us, but believe me if you keep fighting against three of us you will die. Now we-"  
"You have no honour," Samara said sharply "Even if you were not trying to steal from me, even if you had not trespassed here, I would still kill you. Your bluffs mean nothing; you are hopelessly outmatched and soon to die. I may allow one of you to live so that I may learn more about your intentions and benefactor. Just in case however, you should all pray to your appropriate deities, if any."  
Cho shrugged, having spoken to her in the hopes that he could tell where she was hiding, only half hoping there could be a peaceful resolution. He gestured the place where he had traced her voice to, and Flowers nodded. They raised their guns and popped out of cover, immediately being crushed by the large purple five-person couch that blasted through the panelling and pillar with the force of a freight train. Stunned, and pinned beneath the couch, Ortega's two squad-mates had left her to face the biotic alone. Suppressive fire from the Asari's mattock forced her to retreat to the bathroom at the end of the hall. Satisfied, Samara moved back slightly and rained fire through the wall, into the bathroom, cutting off the merc's exist. There was now only one option for the soldier, which Samara had predicted. Through the hole in the wall created by Samara's volley of bullets, a grenade came whizzing toward her. She promptly swept her hand through the air, sending a small biotic field, the last of her reserve power, toward the grenade. It bounced backward, landing right beside Cho's head as he and Flowers had nearly succeeded in freeing themselves and recovering from the blow. In a second, the explosion had consumed the kitchen and the two mercs were fried to a crisp. Samara was already walking toward the bathroom when the grenade was still in the air. When the explosion subsided, though she was partly covered in ash and bombarded with shrapnel, the last of her barrier protected her from most of the blast. She fired in three short bursts through the bathroom wall to where she could tell Ortega would roughly be positioned, based on the arc of the grenade toss. There was the sound of shields failing and a yelp of pain through gritted teeth over the mercenary's suit communicator - which had been tapped into the second the team had entered Samara''s apartment. She had listened in through her discreet ear-piece the entire time   
Samara dashed into the bathroom and brought her foot down hard on the woman's hand as she reached for her gun, which had fallen to the floor. Samara applied pressure on the plate of armour on her hand in such a way that it broke her wrist immediately. Ortega groaned with pain again as Samara ripped the helmet off of her head.   
"You will tell me who sent you here," the Justicar spoke calmly, not making any attempt to intimidate.   
"Go to hell you bitch," her prisoner spat.  
"If you are choosing to die, you ought to do so at least with the dignity of a civil tongue. I will ask for a second and final time. Before you answer, please consider the pros and cons of both a long life spent predominantly in confinement, albeit probably with similar-minded people to yourself - and a meaningless death in the next ten seconds."   
Samara's last sentence was punctuated with her Mattock being pushed up against the soldier's chin. Ortega swallowed noticeably, and a flicker of doubt broke her facade of invulnerability.   
"Well? I remind you that I am a patient woman in all matters except for those regarding the punishment of criminals."  
Ortega caved at last. "I'll be killed for telling you," she said in a low voice "But then, he basically sent us to our deaths tonight without a care in the world. So fuck it. The guy who calls himself The Seer. See? You know him. Ilium's new kingpin. I dunno what the fuck he looks like or anything, but that''s all we were told. The Seer wants something that belongs to an old associate of the late, great commander Shepard. Should have been..."  
She stopped for a second to cough up some blood. Most of the damage was to her leg, but a stray bullet pierced her gut as the shield faltered.   
"Should have been an easy job. Heh. Fuck. We'd gone without a casualty for nine operations we were gonna break... break that smug asshole Antilian's record... Fuck I liked some people in this squad.. At least you... Killed that whiny asshole... Mattingly... Okay. Thats all I know. Some guy called The S-... The Seer. You can go ahead and kill me now anyway."  
"No, I won't. However, you will die. If only you had complied sooner, my medi-gel would be enough to patch you up. The bleeding is too bad now, however. It is against my code to kill out of mercy in this situation, but if you were to attempt to attack me, I would be forced to kill you. If that is what you wish."  
"... Jesus you are one crazy bitch. Nah I think I'll just... ohh god... bleed out all over your nice, fancy floor. Just to... Just to spite you..."  
Samara nodded and left. After all, she had some errands to run.


	2. A meeting with Ms Lawson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Samara meets with Miranda in a room you may recognise; and Miranda and her organisation begin their hunt for clues regarding the Seer; and Samara is given credit for fending off her would-be assassins in her slippers.

She was still holding the file, reading over it for the twelfth time. Her left index finger was impatiently tapping the arm-rest. Her demeanour had, astonishingly, become colder in recent years. Black hair was tied back into a bun, with loose strands framing either side of her face. As she finished re-reading the report, she put the data-pad down with a short, contemplative sigh and clasped her hands together on the desk. These aren't particularly expressive gestures but for Miranda Lawson, they were clear indicators that she was uncomfortable.  
"Let's go over it again," She said, also something she'd done multiple times that day "What else did this Ortega woman say about the Seer? Did they meet with one of his agents or talk to him over the extranet?"  
"As I said, Miranda," Samara replied, eerily calm as ever "All the information she gave were those words. 'The Seer'. Shortly after, she bled out. She was barely intelligible anyway. I did not want to risk receiving misinformation, which is far more dangerous than a lack of information."  
"Yes, yes, so you said," Miranda replied, her exasperation becoming more transparent "But there must have been something? What about the armour they were wearing? Did it bear any insignia we can use, or..."  
You can inspect it yourself, they took the bodies and their possessions and you have the credentials to confiscate them. They wore generic armour sets. Any symbols they would wear would be nothing to do with the seer anyway, they were likely just one-time clients for him. Miranda, I am happy to help, but please do not be careless with how you spend my time. I am a Justicar, I have other duties."  
"Yes, I know. I apologise, but I don't like being repeatedly outsmarted by an adversary. Forgive me Samara."  
This caught Samara off guard. Miranda certainly had changed since those days in the Normandy. The two had generally respected each other before, but Miranda rarely had time for the sanctimony of Samara's lifestyle. Samara now saw Miranda more as someone she could get along with. Perhaps that was because Miranda was approaching what might be considered a human's matriarch stage.  
"Not at all, Miranda. What about the name she mentioned in passing, Antilian?"  
"Oh yes, we followed up on that. A turian mercenary we've had on our watch list for a while. He's the leader of a three man squad who are pretty notorious for working as body-guards or hit-men for corrupt politicians and crime bosses. It seems like his team would have been in direct competition with this Franklin Cho. I suppose that's what she meant by beating his record. It doesn't look like he's ever done work for anyone who might be called The Seer, or connected to him, but we've been looking into it. Nothing yet."  
Samara nodded. "They were exceptionally well equipped, if it helps. You have on record their mag-boots and gloves? As well as limited stealth fields? They lasted much longer than regular stealth fields used by infiltration teams, but only served to camouflage them against the night sky, or else they could have used them indoors. For scaling down the building unnoticed, I would imagine. As well as that, Revenant-class assault rifles - the newer models, incendiary grenades, heavy armour, mediocre-to-superior kinetic barriers, advanced movement detection sensors and a radar to home in specifically on the signal that was being produced by the transmitter. I apologise about the transmitter, for the record."  
Miranda shook her head "You had to fight off six armed mercenaries in a night-gown Samara, it's not your fault if you couldn't help destroying the artefact. That was our slip-up, letting it be tracked so easily. But yes, we took a note of their considerable technology. By your account, they were very well trained, so they don't exactly have humble origins. Still however, I'm willing to bet the Seer contributed. At the very least he would have given them the mag-suits cloaking tech."  
"Agreed."  
The two woman paused for a moment, pondering any details they might have overlooked.  
"I'm afraid all we can do now is try and catch the Seer in the act next time. I apologise again Samara. It was your involvement in the Crucible that brought all this down on your head."  
Samara's hologram presence flickered as she shook her head.  
"No. That was my choice. I am well used to attracting this kind of attention."  
Before ending the transmission, Samara paused thoughtfully..  
"Miranda I forgot to say. The disruptor you gave me - it was highly useful. I managed to not only block their motion scanners and get the chance to surprise them, but I was able to hack their communications with it. It was invaluable."  
"Don't thank me," Miranda said, already returning to work at her desk "Thank the Quarian and Geth scientists who invented it, and Tali'zorah for getting us the only prototype that exists outside of Rannoch. Come to think of it, she was probably the inventor of it too."  
Samara smiled. "I will thank her. She has certainly grown since the days of fighting the collectors."  
"She certainly has."  
"Miranda?" Samara added as she left "So have you."  
The Justicar closed the connection, flickering out of existence, and Miranda swivelled around in her chair to observe the swirling blue light of Anadius, the star that Cronos Station looked out on. She once stood in this room wearing a Ceberus uniform and not a Crucible one as she does now, and she answered to a man obsessed with his vision of the future, instead of answering to no one as she does now. Yes, she thought, she had grown. She then decided that that had been rather enough thoughtfulness for the day and returned to her work. There were plenty of agents under her command whose performances in the field had been less than perfect lately and after all, she may have grown, but she hadn't changed that much.


	3. Mr Massani, In Memoriam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Samara eats in her favorite restaurant for the last time; and remembers Zaeed for his listening skills and drunken attempts at flirtation, not to mention the fragments of his tragic past that he shared; and meditates on what a simpler life, free of the code might be like.

Samara was sitting at the bar, eating an excellent but small serving of an asari rice dish. It had of course, been small at her request. She ate infrequently and not in great portions. While using the apartment that the Crucible had purchased for her as a base to complete her Ilium operations, Samara had eaten exclusively in this restaurant. Or rather, she collected her food here and brought it back to eat on her own. As a Justicar she was not allowed to keep any possessions aside from her weapons and armour, so she was uneasy staying in the apartment. Technically it was the Crucible's apartment and she was staying there, rather like when she stayed on the normandy with Shepard, but stocking the place with groceries seemed to be encroaching on bending her code. She found this place on her first night back in Illium, that advertised itself as a traditional Thessian cafe and bar. It had held against Samara's scrutiny when the first mouthful of the dish brought her back to her maiden stage when she visited Armali for the first time, ate in a five star hotel and attempted to run off before paying. She had been chased down the street but in her youth she easily outran the hotel security. It had been just one of many moments of her careless vitality from her early days that she was so rarely reminded of. She had called the chef out to thank, and upon noticing that Samara was a Justicar, the chef promised that she could eat here for free, three meals a day from now on. A true traditionalist, Samara had noted. Thanking the chef, she informed her that she would come back every day, but for one meal only. Today, the chef had been quite disheartened to learn that this was Samara's last meal here as she had to move on to other worlds for her duties. In farewell, she had given a now-out-of-use asari military salute. Samara appreciated it deeply and the two mariarchs shook hands. It was uncommon for a Matriarch to take up non-diplomatic careers off-world, though certainly not unheard of. Even so, a chef of traditional asari cuisine was a vocation of high esteem, and preserving culture meant more than arguing in the Thessian fora.   
As Samara was finishing her meal, she noticed a man sitting in a round corner table. He was with a much younger (biologically, not chronologically of course) asari. She was dressed in tasteful evening wear but seemed out of place in the restaurant. They were holding hands across the able, so Samara assumed the man had brought her here thinking all asari would appreciate it, though it would be too stuffy for most younger women. She said something that made them both laugh earnestly, and Samara was reminded, briefly, of Zaeed. The way the smile spread across the man's wrinkled face, creasing and cracking it by the candle-light. Zaeed's smiles, though rare, were much the same. As if his face wasn't designed for laughter. It looked as though this man hadn't had much reason to smile before meeting the young, cyan-skinned girl before him. They appeared to be very much in love.   
Zaeed had been a good friend, and he certainly expressed an interest in Samara, but she didn't think he was truly in love with her. She did wonder, sometimes, and she had surprised herself with how upset she was when she missed Zaeed's death. He was old, and tired, and for these reasons Samara knew that his passing was not particularly tragic. Even so, she deeply regretted not being with him in the end. When you faced certain death with a group of people every single day, you are guaranteed to develop a certain closeness or bond with them. Not everyone got along of course, but you can be very close to someone even if you hate them. And though these bonds dissolved the boundary of age along with so many other cultural and philosophical boundaries, there were still some things that were easier discussed with someone in a comparable time of life. For that reason, she had grown quite close to Zaeed. She spoke more often with Thane, in truth, who was aged far beyond his years and she enjoyed talking to Mordin as well, though he was young at heart despite his old age. Zaeed and Samara enjoyed comparing their experiences, and it more often than not ended with Zaeed having one more whiskey than he should have and he'd start talking about something that he typically didn't mention any other time. Occasionally he would mention an old flame of his, and on two occasions he would talk about people he killed who still haunted him in his dreams to this day. Those two nights were particularly rough and she had wondered since how many other people he confided in. On describing the girl's innocent brown eyes as she realised she wasn't going to make it, Zaeed had broken down into tears, his eyes reddened and streaming, coughing out dry sobs. It had been no easier for him recounting the tale of the man who died protecting the slimy criminal bounty he'd believed to be innocent. Leading a life like Zaeed's will leave you with precious few people to confide in. It was likely that the Normany's crew were the only people he felt he could talk to and, of them, Samara especially. The tragedies of his past weren't the only kind of vulnerability she'd been made privy to. No, it was occasions like when Samara was invited to the shore leave that the Normandy's crew had taken and met up with Zaeed that she saw yet another side to him. He could scarcely have been called tipsy when he turned into a nervous teenager. He seemed to try and shroud his nerves in his crude words but even when sober Zaeed was rather transparent. Though firmly rejecting his advances and rejecting any conversation at all once he started ranting about his treasured rifle, she found him rather endearing, later in the night, when he had quietened down. She was no more receptive to his advances, but less bothered by them when he was merely muttering how pretty she was and how she reminded him of the pretty gorram engineer he'd met on Omega and god rest her soul she'd probably been killed when Cerberus took over the station but do you think she ever noticed Zaeed on the days where he'd pass through the garage? After all, she always flashed him that friendly smile but damn it all to hell she probably smiled at everyone like that even nasty sorts. He had gone on that way for a while before his mutterings slowly turned to an incoherent drone and then to a gentle snore, and Samara caught the whiskey as it slipped from his limp hand so that it didn't spill on his lap and pulled a blanket over him. She supposed that the reason she had gotten so close to the usually quite charmless bounty hunter wasn't really much to do with their sparse interactions, similar times of life or comparable career choices; it was because Samara was really quite bad at comforting people when it came to such raw emotional trauma, yet Zaeed had seemed, on those few occasions, quite comforted by her words. She was not one to hold someone as they shook with violent sobs, or to pat them on the back, or even to hold their hand and whisper that it would all be alright. No, she simply listened and sparingly said a few choice words once they'd gotten it all out. Zaeed had surprised her the second time he really opened up by reciting exactly what she'd told him to comfort him before. He let her know that he'd thought about what she said and it had helped him. She was touched just knowing that he had listened. He was a surprisingly good listener, for one who spoke so much and with such crass words. Looking again, Samara concluded that the man sitting behind her didn't look all that much like Zaeed, he even had a different skin tone. She was just in a pensive mood, it seemed. Moreso than usual, that is. She finished her dish and considered briefly what it would have been like to take a bond-mate. Perhaps in some other lifetime, Zaeed would have made a good partner for her.   
Meditating on such domestic questions was ill-fitting of a justicar, Samara thought. It's because she'd stayed still in one place for far too long. Time to move on. Samara thanked the chef one final time and shook her hand. She left the cafe and walked toward the transport station. An hour long train journey to Nos Astra, and then a flight to the edge of Asari space, hunting rumours of a serial killer striking in smaller colonial worlds. One rumour suggested she was an ardat-yakshi. Samara didn't get very far down the street before she felt a tickle in her throat that turned into a cough, then into a coughing fit. When she removed her hand from her mouth, she found it flecked with blood. Things were worsening. She took a serviette off a table in an outdoor cafe and wiped her hand with it before continuing on her journey.


End file.
